Posted by: Briar Rose | December 4, 2006

The Story of Cindy

Part I: Changes

date and time: 120406, 11:10 pm

Well the dogs were whistling a new tune
Barking at the new moon
Hoping it would come soon so that they could
Dogs were whistling a new tune
Barking at the new moon
Hoping it would come soon so that they could
Die die die die die

The audio quality-digital beat droned on as I sped through the lobby of the hospital, never stopping to answer the sms since the team already knew I was on my way. I furrowed my brow as I pressed the floor number, my mind totally engaged with the data I had been given thirty minutes before on the phone. We’ve waited weeks for this donor, and it was almost too late. Almost…My mind raced as the elevator doors opened and I walked quickly to the nurses’ station.

“Have they sent her Upstairs yet?” A nurse looked up, seeming to snap my attention as his eyes met mine. Something inside me always lept a little whenever I see a member of the health care team. I guess, we share the same aura, aching to go faster, farther…to do more…to fight time…to conquer the odds beyond hope..to steal back just one life…one man…one woman…one child…one more. And often I won. We won. Often. But not always. And that irked me. More than that, it pained me. It was the cause for the crystal tears to roll down from my eyes, the sorrow one saw deep within me. It wasn’t enough that we brought miracles almost daily. I wanted more than that, better odds, I wanted to save them all, and there was no way I could.

“Yup.” The nurse nodded quickly. “She just went up.”

“Was she ready?” That was the other thing me and the nurse marveled. Both of us knew instantly what I meant by “ready”; not the I.V. in the patient’s arm nor the mild sedative that have been administered. I was questioning what the patient was thinking, feeling, who had spoken to her, who went with her. I wanted each of them to know what they were facing, how hard the team would work, how much they cared, how desperately they would all try to save each life. I wanted each patient to be ready to enter the battle with me, with us. If they don’t believe they have a fighting chance when they go in that Operating Room, we’ve lost them right from the beginning. To fight for your life is to express how much you love not only your life but also the people in your heart. Like me, I fought with every fiber of my being, and it cost me, but it was worth it. The results I’d gotten in the past four years were amazing, with few exceptions. Exceptions which matterred deeply to me.

It sped up one floor and deposited me outside the operating rooms where we performed bypasses, transplants and occasional cardiac surgeries, but not often. Most of the time we dig big stuff, just as we did this morning. Indeed, Surgery and Porn have something in common. Both are Hardcore.

 

to be continued…

this phuckin fever is killing me, i still wanted to write but my mortal flesh needs to rest for a while…

 

PART II: Are You Ready?

date and time: 120506, 10:28 pm

Cindy (not her real name) was a twenty-two year old girl who had lived most of her adult life as an invalid, crippled by rheumatic fever as a child, and she had suffered through multiple valve replacements and a decade of medication. I knew right from the time she’d been admitted that a transplant was the only answer for her. But, thus far, there had been no donor. Until tonight, at two thirty in the morning, when a group of juvenile deliquents had engaged in their own private drag races; three of them died on impact, and after a series of busineslike phone call from the splendidly run organization for the location and placement of donors, I knew we had a good one. I had done a lot of phone calls to every hospital in and out of the metroplis for a possible donor, and now we had one — if Cindy could just survive the surgery, and her body wouldn’t sabotage us by rejecting the new heart we’re going to give her.

I peeled off my clothes, donned the limp green cotton surgery pyjamas, scrubbed intensely and was gowned and masked by surgical assistants. Three doctors, two residents did likewise as did a fleet of nurses. As I walked into the operating room, it seemed that I didn’t even noticed them. My eyes immediatly sought Cindy, lying silent and still on the operating room table, her own eyes seemingly mesmerized by the bright lights above her. She wanted desperatly to be an artist…to go to prom…to finish college…to be kissed…to have babies…She recognized me even with the cap and mask and she smiled sleepily through a haze of medication.

“Hi.” She looked frail, her eyes enormous in the fragile face, like a broken china doll, waiting for us to repair her.

“Hello, Cindy. How’re you feeling?”

“Funny.” Her eyes fluttered for a moment and she smiled at a familiar eyes. She had come to know me in the last few weeks. We’ve opened doors of hope for her, of tenderness and of caring, and the lonliness and isolation she had felt for years had finally seemed less acute to her.

“We’re going to be pretty busy for the next few hours. All you have to do is lie there and snooze.” I watched her and glanced at the monitors nearby before looking back at her. “Scared?”

“Sort of.” But I knew she was well-prepared. We spent weeks explaining the surgery to her, the intrictae process, and the dangers and medications afterward. She knew what to expect now, and our big moment had come. It was almost like giving birth. And we would be giving birth to her, almost as tough she would spring form our souls, from our fingertips as we fought to save her.

awright, sleeping time… ^_^

 

 

 

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Responses

  1. cool poem


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